Neglect

Dear Lynn ( and dear neglected blog)

Not even a photo.  I do so love this space though, even empty.

So here I am.  My chin still sprouts ever more hair.  I still have heart burn.  I still have weight to lose.

I get so passionate about things I ought to do, and start off well.  And then it all goes to hell in a handbasket.  Or whatever that saying is.

All of my blogs are much neglected.  The people I love to write about do not see a lot of me.  Even my photography has been neglected other than for major occasions where I have been paid to do the work.

I guess I am living my life.  It is a very quiet life which is driven mostly by the needs of the kids.  J and I continue to work away at our marriage - in a very quiet kind of way.  Which is OK with me after all the drama of the past few years.  I was in such a hurry to get engaged/married and now I feel like we are slowly building a friendship with stronger foundations.  I heard a local comedian say recently that we should only get married after being together 20 years - that we have it all the wrong way round.  In our case we were only together four months before we got engaged and whilst it felt fantastic at the time I think we could have done with waiting to get married for 20 years.

And have I mentioned the cross roads thing.  I hope I have a good 30 or more years left in me.  Yet what shall I do with them.  I know my own mother went into a clinical depression over questions like these. Whilst I know that won't happen to me I am left wondering - what to do, what to do.

Give back is the answer I keep coming up with.

love to you

Mary

Sandwiched

Dear Mary,

I am feeling downright peanut butter-ish lately.  Or maybe a dollop of Nutella would be more like it.  In any case, I have become a card-carrying member of the Sandwich Generation, with my children being one slice of bread and my ailing parents the other.  And as much as I would like to ooze out from between both at the moment, it is not to be.

So I lower my parenting standards (I was always kind of curious about unschooling anyway, and maybe the old Scooby Doo episodes won't warp my five-year-old's brain too much).  I luxuriate in a little self-indulgence (I'm taking an online self-portrait course; if you promise not to laugh too much, here's my collection so far).  And you'd better believe that I'm getting pretty good at living in the moment (because it beats reliving a month of hospital visits and nursing home conversations, and anticipating crises to come).

Until next time...

xoxoxo
Lynn

Fat Fat the water rat

Dear Lynn

To say I was devastated when I got on the scales last week is an understatement.

One hundred and one kilos or 220 pounds.  Never ever ever did I expect to get to that weight.

Ever.

I want to live for another forty years.  Not fifty. Forty will do.  I want to kiss my children a billion more times. I want to continue to nurture the very gentle tentative new relationship I have with my husband.  I want to take better and better photographs.  Laugh with my friends for so much longer.

And so, yet again, I begin to monitor my food, my exercise and have booked to see a herbalist.

I have done this before.  This time though I am so angry with myself that there is a ferocity in my determination to achieve some weight loss.

Fuckity bugger.

Love to you 

Mary

Heartburn

Dear Lynn

Just wanted to let you know that I am still here - that my heart burns for you as you look after your mum

and that I am , in fact , literally suffering from heartburn, indigestion, reflux -  I believe that it is quite common at our age but it is utterly repulsive.

And that I am now 6 weeks off the fags ...

which I thought would help me with the heartburn.. but it has not..

I suspect a lot less sugar in my diet and a lot more exercise is probably the key.

Bugger it.

xxxx

Mary

bathroom toys

Hello my friend

I am still here but I know you and I have been dealing with all the stuff that life throws you in the last couple of months.

This post has been on my mind for a while....and whilst the photo is a bad one taken with my phone, the memories it conjures up are not.

These are the last of the bathroom toys that I cannot bear to throw out just yet.  On the rare occasion that Margot has a bath now instead of a shower, I will still hear her playing with them.  The noises she makes, the stories she tells, the songs she sings whilst taking a long bath, these bath toys are the last vestiges of toddlerdom left in my home  (other than for favourite soft toys).

Margot is the youngest of my three and at eight years of age, she still, thankfully, remains an innocent in many ways.

When I drop her off at school I consciously imprint on my memory bank the image of her , blonde haired, back pack carrying, sometimes murmuring away to herself as she walks in the school gate.

Because one thing is for sure- at 47 the years are truly whipping past at a tremendous rate.

Love

Mary

Seeking serenity

Divine Ms. M and the gang:

Shouldn't that age-related equanimity thing be kicking in some time soon?  You know, that feeling of, "I've lived long enough that I can't be arsed to get upset about any of this stuff."

Maybe it happens at 87, not 47...

Love,
Ever the Work in Progress

My friend, the camera

Mistress Mary, Quite Chin-Hairy ~

You and I have talked before about how photography has been our salvation during difficult times.  Sometimes I need a reminder to pick up my camera when things get rocky.  I did just that this morning and came up with this simple image that fills me with such peace and pleasure.  The sunlight on the little basket, my grandmother's dining chair (part of a set I gratefully received after her passing a month ago)...

I really like this quotation attributed to Dorothea Lange:

The camera is an instrument that teaches people to see without a camera.

I don't think I really was able to appreciate simple stuff like this little vignette twenty or even ten years ago.  You?

Love, Lynn

P.S.  The chin-hair thing wigs me out pretty badly, too.  Mine sprouts right out of a mole, perfectly witch-like.  Sigh.